


in the backseat of my heart

by emisgolden



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emisgolden/pseuds/emisgolden
Summary: louis tomlinson drives and writes and drives some more.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 1





	in the backseat of my heart

Louis Tomlinson sits red in the light of the petrol station tracing his ripped leather car seat with his ungloved fingers. He’s parked, waiting rather impatiently for some unearthly cue to coax him out of the warm hum of his car and into the dismally glowing building for a pack of cigarettes, something caffeinated, and a Snickers bar. A minute passes, the lights flicker, and his car sighs, and he takes that as a decent enough cue to get him up. He turns his keys out of the ignition, double wraps his lanyard around his shivering fingers, pries open the car door, shimmies out of his seat, and slams the door shut. He enters the station by pushing the door open with his shoulder while simultaneously pulling the hood of his blue hoodie over his head in a lame attempt of dodging eye contact with the shopkeep.

Louis has never been to this gas station before or even to this part of the country. He was driving aimlessly again, a habit he’d formed six or so months ago when he first began darting from town to town and living out of motels and B&Bs (supplemented by the occasional overnight stay in a friendly stranger’s bedroom). He can only truly write while he ricochets. He's never been the type to settle. 

Louis makes a b-line for the bathroom, knowing in that 21st century instinctual kind of way that it would be in the furthermost back corner by the freezer case of Ben & Jerry's. Upon entrance into the bathroom, he locks the door behind him, pulls his hoodie down off his head, runs his hands through his notably shaggy hair, and takes a piss. When he’s finished, he begrudgingly looks into the mirror only to be met with bleary blue eyes piercing enough to shatter the glass. _Yeesh_. He’d left his motel of three nights at nine this morning, duffel bag in the backseat of his car and driving (presumably east) down backroads ever since. Well, that and give or take the sandwich and apple he ate by a random creek with his journal at about noon. _What time is it anyways?_ He pulls out his phone from the pocket of his Adidas track pants. _2:39am. Fuck._

After perusing the fridge cases for something with a caffeine level adequate enough to keep him driving until the sun rises, he settles on a neon green energy drink. The can is cold and wet and metallic against his shivering hand as he plucks it from the fridge. He puts it under the armpit of his sweatshirt, grabs a Snickers and a bag of BBQ crisps for good measure, and makes his way to the front of the store, where he dumps his loot onto the counter and checks his sweatshirt pocket for the crumpled ten pound note he put in there earlier. He mutters, “And a pack of Newport menthols, please.” and looks back down at his sneakers. Louis’s head springs back up as he’s jolted by the electronic ding of the shop door opening behind him and a gust of cold air. He turns around, but the figure that entered is already tucked between fluorescent aisles. He can only hear the subtle squeak of tennis shoes against gas station tile.

“Sir? Your change?” asks the cashier, probably repeating himself, though Louis couldn’t be sure, annoyed and popping hot pink gum against his teeth. Louis shakes his head to realert himself.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He takes the bills and coins and receipt and crumples them into his sweatshirt pocket, grabbing the now bagged items off the counter before slipping back outside. He gets back in his car, turns the heater on (as meager as it may be), flips the radio station to something less than fifty percent static, and unpeels his Snickers. He takes a big bite and sighs into the chocolate.

The car heater begins to pick up its pace and exhales dusty warm air in heavy breaths. Louis takes the last bite of his candy bar and washes it down with the energy drink. It tastes green. Nosily, he looks into the shop one last time before pulling out onto the road for the night. The tall figure stands at the checkout and grabs his bag off the counter before turning around sharply. He makes eye contact with Louis like the headlight shine of a fox’s eyes in the dark. Louis lowers his head immediately and searches for his phone with his hands. When he finds it, he clicks it on and off again before backing out of the parking lot. The tall figure walks past his car in his peripheral, and Louis heads on his way.

...

By nine am, Louis is standing in the lobby of a shrill little bed and breakfast among peeling paint and antique floral print. He stands at the front desk playing with his fingers with his duffle bag by his feet on the rose colored carpet. The lady at the computer finishes typing, violently swipes his credit card into an outdated system, and leads Louis to his room. The door unlocks with a golden little vintage key. When she hands it to Louis, he immediately worries about the prospect of losing it.

She stands in the doorway and tells him about amenities, or what time breakfast is, Louis’ not really listening, and soon she’s gone and he’s sitting on the bed looking at the ceiling and counting his breaths. The key sits in the palm of his hand, and he traces its edges with his thumb. He closes his eyes, and is immediately met with a flash of gas station fluorescence, the smell of car exhaust, and the silhouette of the mystery figure from last night.

He puts the key on the bedside table with a metallic clatter. He takes his notepad out of his duffle bag and begins scrawling. 

  
  


_you’d slice me to the bone just to taste my marrow_

_cupid’s got good aim and all but you poured poison on his arrows_

_i drink from emerald pools they turn me green like grass and mint_

_my hearts not made of glass, you know it’s actually plastic_

_two candles burn relentlessly to meet at the same wick_

_blow me out, relight the flame so we can meet again_

  
  
  
  


He scribbles out the last two lines before tossing his notebook onto the bed. He stands up, paces a little, and decides he should probably take a shower.

The bathroom is pink and smells like powder and perfumey soap. The shower head sputters too hot water over Louis, washing him clean. He opens his eyes under the stream of water, and watches his vision of the shower ceiling change to open roads and traffic lights. 

**Author's Note:**

> the next chapter will be longer. they will meet again, obviously.


End file.
